Constellations Made of Us
by foreverwriting9
Summary: "You know," he says slowly, glancing at the flashing lights on the trees around them, "you look lovely in red and green, Lisbon." Jane, Lisbon, and the holidays.


**For the anon on tumblr who asked if I would consider writing a holiday fic. This story would not have happened without your suggestion. **

**Happy Holidays, guys!**

* * *

**II.**

He remembers this Christmas by the lights in her hair.

The snow is well past their ankles and it's two in the morning, but he thinks it might all be worth it just to see her like this, half awake, with snowflakes melting in her curls. Lisbon's breath fogs in front of her face as she listens to the ME explain core body temps and TODs, and Jane really should be paying attention because it's his _job_. (But sometimes he forgets how distracting she can be.)

He's in the middle of guessing her favorite Christmas beverage when he realizes that everyone has stopped talking and is instead staring at him expectantly. Lisbon frowns and aims an elbow at his ribs. "_Jane._"

"Hmm?" he responds, trying to look as though he wasn't just contemplating what eggnog might taste like on her tongue.

"Any ideas?" she says impatiently, and judging by her tone it's at least the third time she's asked him that question.

Jane slides his hands into his coat pockets, casting a glance around at the assembled crowd before fixing his gaze on Lisbon once again. "Angry lumberjack," he supplies.

She actually manages to frown at him even more, and he finds it utterly endearing. "That's your theory?" It's supposed to be a question, but comes out sounding more like a flat statement. She doesn't look at all pleased, and he wants to smooth away the furrow between her brows with his thumb.

Instead, he gestures at the Christmas tree lot around them. "I'm just using what's been given to me, dear."

She rolls her eyes, exasperated, and turns back to the ME. "He's a consultant," she says, as though that explains everything that just happened.

Jane grins at the man over Lisbon's shoulder. "They don't give me dental," he adds cheerily.

Ten minutes later, they're trudging through the snow back toward Lisbon's car. She's talking about possible leads, but he's only half listening, because the way the flickering Christmas tree lights slide over her curves is incredibly distracting.

She pulls up short all of a sudden and Jane bumps into her, his hands brushing against her waist as he steadies himself. He pretends not to notice her flinch at the contact and then moves away, sheepish.

Lisbon squints at him through the dim morning light. "What's with you today?"

He stares at her, trying to figure out how best to answer her question without being punched. (The snow in her hair sparkles and he is absolutely done for.) "You know," he says slowly, glancing at the flashing lights on the trees around them, "you look lovely in red and green, Lisbon."

The blush that spreads up her neck and across her cheeks makes him chuckle.

She smacks his arm. "Shut up, Jane."

* * *

**IV. **

The annual CBI holiday party is loud and cheerful and Jane gets away from it all as soon as possible.

It's not that he hates Christmas; it's just that the holiday season tends to remind him of everything he used to have. (Charlotte ripping through red and gold and green wrapping paper. Angela plucking marshmallows out of her hot chocolate to pop them in her mouth. His house bright and warm and everything that was good for him.)

Naturally, his plan of escape involves Lisbon's office.

He sidesteps some members of the Vice Unit drunkenly slurring over the words to 'Silent Night' and slips into the darkened space, letting the door shut silently behind him. As he lets out a relieved sigh, a quiet voice drifts over from the corner.

"Jane?"

He jumps, snapping his mouth shut just in time to cut off a stream of curses. "Lisbon?" he says weakly, peering through the dim light in the direction of her voice.

She's perched on the end of her couch, wearing a red and green sweater and a pair of jeans that makes his throat go completely dry. Lisbon crosses her legs, sinking back against the cushions of the couch. "What are you doing here?"

Jane moves to sit near her, well aware that he can't seem to stop staring. "Hiding," he admits eventually. "You?" he asks, stretching his arm along the back of the couch until his fingertips brush her shoulder.

"Hiding," she echoes bashfully.

Outside, the Vice Unit switches to a rowdy rendition of 'Jingle Bells'. Lisbon lets out a quiet laugh when one of the agents stubbornly sticks to their previous song choice, singing loudly over his teammates. Jane takes the opportunity to slide closer to her, the weight of his whole hand resting against the warm softness of her sweater. If she notices the change, she doesn't give any indication.

"Hmm," Jane hums thoughtfully. "And who are you hiding from, Agent Lisbon?" He gives her a crooked smile, fingers brushing absently over her shoulder.

Her eyes seem to go a shade darker, but it could just be a trick of the poor lighting. "Anderson," she says after a pause. "He's been trying to corner me under the mistletoe all night." She shrugs. "I figured I'd go somewhere I could be sure there wouldn't be any mistletoe."

"A wise choice, dear," he says, glancing around the room and pretending to search for the offending plant. "Although," he pauses, turning his attention back to her, "I should point out that this _is_ your office. It's hardly the last place he'd look."

Lisbon nods. "I've thought about that."

"And?"

Her foot bumps into his as she inches closer to him, cheeks dimpling when she finds her punch line. "I'll just hide behind you when the time comes," she says, grin mischievous and unbearably adorable. "That'll be a nice change of pace for us, don't you think?"

Jane laughs, so loud and bright that he startles Lisbon and the inebriated carolers outside the office door fall silent, confused at the sudden noise. When he finally stops, face split in two and gasping for breath, he realizes that she's looking at him like she's seeing him for the first time. "I'd be happy to protect you from ambitious mistletoe trap layers," he says a little breathlessly, eyes crinkling in amusement.

He thinks he must have said something important, because her chest hitches for a split second. Then her lips curl upward into a tentative smile, and she sticks out her hand like they're making a deal. "Partners?" she asks, and his heart gives a funny lurch in his chest.

"Partners," Jane agrees, reaching out to shake her hand.

(She never does find out about the sprig of mistletoe hidden in his vest pocket.)

* * *

**I.**

She's curled up on her couch, hot chocolate on her tongue and ceramic mug warm against her palm, when her phone rings.

"Hello?"

(She doesn't expect it to be him.) "Hey, Lisbon." He goes for nonchalant but fails, the consequent tone making something in her chest tighten.

"Jane? Are you okay?" She doesn't realize until the question is out of her mouth that she's already standing and halfway to the door, as if she's going to head out and save him. Right now.

He huffs out a laugh that almost sounds painful. "I'm fine, Lisbon, sit down."

She moves back toward the couch, still cradling her mug in one hand. "Did you find something on the Madero case?" she asks hopefully.

"No," he says, "that's not it either."

Lisbon rolls her eyes. He would be irritating enough to phone her on Christmas Eve only to talk around the subject of his call. "What on earth do you want then?"

The silence on the other end lasts for so long that she thinks he's hung up. Just as she pulls the phone away from her ear, Jane takes a deep breath. "I called to say Merry Christmas, Lisbon."

The words punch a hole through her chest.

"_Oh_." It's a gasp, barely there, hanging between them precariously. Then Lisbon remembers herself. "Merry Christmas to you too," she says, her voice coming out strange and choked.

The line falls silent again after that, and it suddenly hits her that he might just be listening to her breathe. The thought breaks her heart. "Jane-" She doesn't fully know what she's going to say, and she stumbles over his name. How do you comfort a man whose whole world has been torn away? (_I'm sorry? I care? Come over?)_

Jane cuts her off before she can figure out the rest of her sentence. "Have a good night," he murmurs quickly, and then hangs up.

"Goodnight," she echoes, confused and a beat too late for him to hear the sentiment. She puts the phone down and just stares at it, wrapping her fingers tighter around her mug and worrying about him. (This is who she is and always will be, and he might learn to love her for it.)

It's the first time she realizes Jane spends Christmas alone.

* * *

**III.**

"Lisbon, if you frown at your computer like that much longer it'll probably catch fire."

She jumps, banging her knee on the underside of her desk and almost slamming her hand in a drawer. "Jesus, Jane," she swears, looking up at him and scowling, "can't you knock?"

He flashes a brilliant smile at her. "Gotta keep you on your toes," he explains, moving to sit on the chair across from her. "I wouldn't want you getting bored-"

She rolls her eyes at him and turns back to her computer. "What do you want?"

Jane leans forward, running his fingers along her stapler and then sliding them across a stack of folders. "Can't a consultant keep his boss company without there being any underlying motive involved?" he asks innocently.

She taps out a few more words on her keyboard before swatting his hand away with a frown. "No," she replies. "Especially if said boss was called into work on Christmas Eve because of a dead guy found in a chimney."

Jane sighs, trying to look put out. When she ignores him and continues typing, he grabs the nearest sheet of paper and begins folding it. "Will it make you feel better if I tell you that I got you a present?"

"You got me a present?" Lisbon asks suspiciously, dropping all pretense of trying to work and finally giving him her full attention.

The corners of his mouth quirk upward at her wary curiosity. "Of course," he says, as if it's a foregone conclusion that he will always buy her a Christmas present.

Her eyes narrow. "What is it?"

The room goes quiet except for the sound of crinkling as Jane continues shaping the paper in his hands. "Guess," he says.

She folds her arms across her chest. "No."

"Lisbon," he singsongs in protest.

"Jane," she shoots back in the same tone.

He sighs. "Fine." He leans in toward her, letting the paper creation fall into his lap. "Spoilsport," he adds, petulantly.

Lisbon rolls her eyes and waits, expecting something dramatic and huge and _Jane. _Something like a pony or an emerald necklace.

"It was Brian Shipton," he says.

"What?"

"The roommate," Jane clarifies. "Our man in the chimney stole his girl. One night Brian had been drinking too much and he simply needed an outlet for his anger. The chimney was a convenient hiding place."

She opens and shuts her mouth a few times, completely speechless.

He continues. "Cho and Rigsby are going to get him now. With any luck, we'll have a confession and be home within two hours."

"Jane...?" His name comes out as a strangled half question, and she can't _believe_-

"Case closed." Jane's smile goes slow and sweet. "Merry Christmas, Lisbon," he says softly.

She shakes her head. "I thought-" Lisbon stops suddenly, struck by the thought that this is just as much Jane as the pony or the emerald necklace. This is considerate and sweet, a gesture so beautiful it makes her heart stutter in her chest. (She absolutely adores this side of him.)

"What?" he asks with a grin. "You thought I was going to give you something completely over the top and unnecessary?" Jane shakes his head. "I'm saving that for tomorrow," he says, lifting his hands from his lap and dropping an origami frog on the desk between them.

She stares down at the paper creature for a moment, surprise catching at her mouth. Then she glances up at him, trying, rather unsuccessfully, to tamp down on the laughter curling in the back of her throat. "Dammit, Jane," she says, venomless and amused, "that was a complaint form."

* * *

**V.**

She tastes like mint and eggnog.

She tastes like mint and eggnog and she's so _warm_ that his fingertips burn every time they touch her skin.

(This is the greatest gift she gives him.)

Lisbon groans as he presses her into the mattress beneath them, and the sound sends something desperate and aching curling through his chest. His hands skim along the flare of her ribcage as he watches her, choking on everything he wants to say. He's waited _years_ for this, and there's simply too much between them for any one sentence to be adequate enough.

He must look terrified, because when she glances up at him her eyes widen with concern. "Jane?" Her hand brushes over his chin. "Are you okay?"

She smells like home and he absolutely (completely, utterly) loves her. He gasps for breath. "I'll keep you safe," he swears raggedly, leaning down and pressing the promise into her skin. "I'll keep you safe."

"Hey." Lisbon slides her fingers through his curls, tugging until he looks up at her. "I've never thought otherwise," she says softly.

They stare at each other, their heavy breathing echoing off the walls and the weight of their words pressing down around them. Jane finds himself mapping out the freckles scattered across her cheeks and smiling. She's beautiful. And she is _his_. A hoarse chuckle tumbles out of his mouth. "I'm such a fool," he rasps.

She hums in agreement, fingers tapping out a beat along his shoulders. "An idiot, really."

He tries to look indignant, but the way his mouth curves upward at her gives him away. "You wound me," he says, pressing a hand to his chest theatrically.

In response, Lisbon rolls them over, laughing when she sees his startled expression. "Merry Christmas, Jane," she murmurs, tilting her head playfully as she looks down at him. He's spent so long resisting temptation (resisting _her_), and he's not going to waste one more precious second. Jane pushes himself up off the bed and kisses her, grinning against her mouth. (And he wants to spend the rest of his life like this, warm and happy and wrapped in Lisbon.)

When they finally separate, she rests her forehead against his and they breathe together. He can feel the corners of her smile when he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her closer. "Merry Christmas, dear," he whispers against her cheek. "Merry Christmas."


End file.
